If You Can't Stand The Heat
by Misery Loves Sarah
Summary: My entry for the Diehard Challenge:Relegated to the Kitchen. Enjoy.


**Here is my entry for the Diehard Challenge: Relegated to the Kitchen. As always I don't own Sanctuary, but if I did can you imagine the difference…**

**If You Can't Stand The Heat**

Helen had been alone in her family home for exactly one hour. Her father was attending a conference that many said could revolutionize the field of medicine and Mrs. Mabry, the housekeeper had gone to visit her daughter who due to have her first child anytime. The solitude was so refreshing that when Mrs. Mab, as she liked to be called, insisted on staying to keep her company in her father's absence Helen refused. "After all," she had said, "Molly will only have her first child once."

"But, what if Mr. Druitt comes to call, it isn't proper for you to receive him here alone." the maid had asked worriedly.

"I shall simply tell him, that to allow him entry into my nearly unoccupied home, would cause a scandal of outrageous proportion and we Magnus's have far too many to going on with already." Helen had assured the woman who had given aid in raising her, after Patricia Magnus's death.

"Cheeky girl." The maid had said in a tone that bespoke frustration and amusement. However, it worked because Mrs. Mab had been on her way after that.

A knock upon the door alerted her to company. Helen of course knew, that Mrs. Mab's fear had come true and John Druitt waited patiently to be allowed entrance to the Magnus home. She was not disappointed when she opened the door and smiled. "John."

"My Helen, answering the door. Mrs. Mabry will surely be upset with you. She does rather enjoy opening the door to see me." John teased. Helen gave a rather unladylike snort, in concession, the maid loved John almost as much as Helen did.

"Oh John, I am afraid that she isn't here. Nor is father. Which means that if I allowed you to come in all of London would be set abuzz with rumors of my promiscuity." Helen explained.

A devious smile spread across John's face. "We can't have that, now can we. I suppose I shall have to set my mind to other pursuits. I shall bid you farewell for now." He tipped his hat to her and left with a grin.

Helen shut the door with a funny feeling that she hadn't seen the last of Druitt that night.

**Sanctuary**

Helen entered her father's study with retrieving a book she was using in mind. She had completely forgotten about her visitor earlier and settled herself in for a quiet evening, at least until she heard a shuffle coming from the second floor. She decided to investigate and began to make her way upstairs. Three steps was as far as she made it up the staircase before an intruder set foot on it. With a squeak and a jump she stumble backwards down the stairs causing a sharp pain in her ankle. Her "intruder" turned out to be John Druitt himself, who stooped at her side as she clutched her injured leg.

"I should have known it would be you, John." And she really should have. John Druitt had a knack for finding entry wherever he wanted to be, locked doors and sensationalized whispers be damned. "However did you get in here?"

"I climbed the drain pipe at the back of the house up to the balcony and jimmied the door open of course. Do not worry, not a soul saw me do it. How badly does your ankle hurt?" He asked.

Helen grimaced. "It's not broken, but I twisted it. Do you think you could help me walk to that chair?"

With a scoff of impatience at the absurdity that he would let her walk on a bad foot, he deftly lifted her into his arms and carried her to a chair by the fire. He sat on the ottoman with her ankle in his lap and began unlacing her boot. "No wonder you hurt yourself. How do you women wear these inane contraptions and call them shoes?" He asked rhetorically discarding the offending high heeled item.

"John, this is entirely improper," She began, but shook her head in disbelief of the situation. "But then so is you sneaking into my home without a chaperone here."

He gave her the same devious smile he had this afternoon. "You are glad that I'm here though. If only because I break the loneliness of your hermetic little evening. Your ankle is swelling." He said before she could comment on his former statement. Then with the air of someone doing her a great favor he said, "That does it, then. I shall have to stay and take care of you. You simply will have to stay off that foot."

"I wouldn't want to impose on your generosity." She scowled, playing along and was about to add that he had technically made his presence necessary when he spoke again.

"Have you eaten, Dear Helen?" He asked. Dropping his teasing tone.

She was taken aback and realized she hadn't. "No, I was going to later, but…"

He stood; he placed her leg on the ottoman. "Say no more, I shall fix a quiet supper for us to share."

"John, do you even know how to cook?" Helen queried skeptically.

"Of course." He lied. How difficult could it be.

**Sanctuary**

After the small fire on the stove had been put out, John peered into the pan that had started it. The thick cut of bacon that he had been trying to fry was barely recognizable, but would have to do. When he had found it in the icebox, it was a godsend, because he at least knew what it was. He had also taken cheese and a loaf of bread from the countertop and put together what surely looked like the most unappetizing meal in all of creation.

The small kitchen was a disastrous affair when he was done, Mrs. Mab would be horrified to see it.

"John, I smell smoke…is something wrong?" Helen called from the sitting room.

He put their dinner on a tray and entered the sitting room in answer. "Nothing at all, my dear. Dinner is served."

He place the tray on a table beside her and sat in the chair next to it. Helen hesitated, "Well, then I suppose we should eat." She paused for a moment before cutting a piece of the bacon off the rest. She put it in her mouth and tried desperately to ignore the flavor. She chewed slowly trying to keep herself from gagging.

"How is it?" Druitt asked, but didn't wait for her to answer. He took a piece himself and ate it. The look of disgust on his face made Helen laugh. John spit the thing he had dared to call food into a napkin and Helen felt free to do the same. "It's dreadful." He said.

Helen continued to laugh, but nodded. "It truly is, I am sorry."

"You were going to eat it anyway." He commented in confusion.

"I was. You tried and I didn't want to hurt your feelings." She smiled sweetly at him.

John had never in his life felt more loved than hearing her say that she was willing to ingest something that horrible just to make him happy. "Well, I suppose I should apologize to you. Dinner is going to be an awfully meager."

"John, I was going to tell you, but you seemed so sure of yourself…Mrs. Mab made a stew before leaving. It was on the counter by the bread." She started giggling. "I really can't believe you didn't see it."

He tried to look mad, but couldn't and soon was laughing with her. Later, when he helped her upstairs to her room and then did the gentlemanly thing and climbed back down the way he came up, he was still chuckling to himself. He did not understand how he had gotten so lucky.

**I tried to make this as realistic as possible, but I'm not sure if it is completely plausible that a young single Helen would have been left on her own at that time, but for the story to work she had to be. And yes, being caught without a chaperone in those days was social suicide, thus Druitt's sneakiness. Can anybody tell me where I hinted at what John Druitt's future abnormality would be…you know just to make sure you all actually read it. LOL. **

**Btw, I did research Victorian era cooking and found that bacon (not sliced like we have now) was a staple. For some reason I found that oddly interesting. Yeah…I have problems. Well, enjoy and please review. **


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